


tell 'em what you saw

by ell (amywaited)



Series: on this lonely barricade [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Cute, Discussions of death, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Powerful Cecil, Science, handwavey science, kittens!!, lots of comfort, melodrama?, soft, the whispering forest - Freeform, word emphasis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amywaited/pseuds/ell
Summary: Cecil makes a face that is stuck somewhere between fear, confusion, and bone deep concern. Carlos is fairly certain he’s making the same face right now too, so he settles for putting his hands on Cecil’s cheeks and saying, “we won’t let it come to that.”It doesn’t do much to quell his fears, and by the looks of it, doesn’t do much to quell Cecil’s either.“Carlos is right,” Dave agrees, “we won’t let it come to that. You don’t have anything to worry about, Cecil. Everything is going to be fine.”
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Series: on this lonely barricade [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796329
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> apologies since i forgot what song this title came from,, ill edit this if i remember lol.
> 
> enjoy!!

Cecil puts a bowl of cereal and a mug of what might be hot chocolate down beside Carlos. He peers into the mug nervously, wondering if something will jump out at him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“There’s nothing in it,” he promises, sitting in the seat opposite Carlos. 

“I can never be too sure,” Carlos says. Still, he lifts the mug and takes a dutiful sip. The only thing wrong with it is the distinct lack of chocolate. 

“The caviar just adds texture,” Cecil tells him. He pulls the bowl of cereal over to his side of the table, “you know, it’s remarkably popular in Night Vale.”

“And outside of Night Vale, it’s disgusting. And weird,” Carlos says. “What time is your shift today?”

Cecil glances at his watch, which Carlos is fairly sure hasn’t worked since around the Middle Ages. In fact, the big hand has been replaced by some sort of sentient tentacle, and despite it not having a battery, it still sounds an alarm once every week at 12:03 am. It’s utterly pointless to look at it, but must mean something to Cecil because he says, “I’ll have to leave in ten minutes.”

“Mhm,” Carlos takes another sip of the hot not-really-chocolate. “What time will you be home?”

“Half-past four.”

“Do you want me to pick you up?” Carlos asks. Cecil’s car had broken down and the garage has been on sabbatical for the last six years. Carlos is trying to work up the courage to fix it for him, given that Cecil’s car tends to emit an ominous growling noise whenever he goes near it.

Cecil shakes his head. “Thank you for offering, but no. I’ll walk home. It’s supposed to be a nice day, and I wouldn’t want to drag you away from your science. Lest you discover something life-changing.”

“You’re far more important than science,” Carlos says, “but okay. I’ll see you when I get home, then.”

“And don’t forget to call me if you’re going to stay late,” Cecil reminds him. “I’ll sort out dinner tonight, and I can put away leftovers.”

Carlos is wary of leftovers. Still, he says, “I’ll call you, I promise.”

“Call me before you’re two minutes away from the house?” Cecil says. Carlos feels the blush rising in his cheeks, and Cecil reaches out a hand to cup his chin. “I do worry, you know.”

“I know. I worry too,” Carlos says. He puts his hand atop Cecil’s. “I love you.”

He feels the delicious shiver of power run through him at the words. He’s still not entirely used to the power they hold - and he’s not sure what it is - but Carlos can’t help but enjoying it. The strength that Cecil gives him takes on an almost physical, almost tangible being, and it seems to live in his speech. Cecil gets a delightfully soft look in his eyes whenever he feels it too, which is almost even better.

“I love you too,” Cecil says, and his words have just as much impact, but it tastes differently. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“See you tonight,” Carlos agrees, and the words sound like a promise, like a vow, and the force behind it gives them a wonderfully new meaning.

* * *

Science is as brilliant and immersing as it always is. The lunch rota has acquired several new stains, one that looks suspiciously like blood or tomato paste (or both), and Stan has developed a new theory about the mountains (or lack thereof, on account of mountains not existing in Night Vale). All in all, it’s productive and suspiciously non-stressful.

“You’re quiet today,” Rachelle says, two minutes before Dave’s lunch alarm rings. Carlos only knows it’s two minutes before because Dave keeps looking at his phone in anticipation. 

He shrugs. “I guess so.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I just feel like something’s going to happen today,” he says. Rachelle looks almost concerned, but only slightly. “I don’t know what. But something big.”

“Are you sure?” Rachelle asks. “I mean, something big in Night Vale could just mean the grocery store is going to release a new product.”

“I know,” Carlos says. He makes a mental note to check his notification settings for the news sites, just in case something will turn up on there. “It could also mean they’re going to shut the grocery store down because of a mass homicide there.”

Rachelle says, “well, don’t jinx it. Isn’t Cecil’s show on right now? Do you wanna listen?”

“Sure,” Carlos shrugs. Usually he avoids listening to Cecil’s show because of how distracting it is, and distraction tends to have bad results when he’s working with science, but maybe he just needs to hear his voice today.

She flicks the radio on, automatically tuned to the station frequency. “We can break for lunch in a minute, anyway.”

Sure enough, Dave’s alarm goes off just as Cecil introduces the show.

_ “This is not the sky as we know it,”  _ Cecil says, and his voice almost seems to melt out of the speakers and into Carlos’s bones.  _ “This is not the sea as we know it. However, it is the Earth as we know it, and everything will be fine. Welcome to Night Vale.” _

“Sorry, Carlos!” Dave whispers, “I’ll pick up lunch today!”

Carlos waves him off, already utterly captivated by Cecil’s voice. He vaguely notes the door opening and closing, and Rachelle going back to her own desk, but already the world hardly exists outside of Cecil’s words.

_ “Guess what, listeners,”  _ he says,  _ “Today, I was walking to the station, because my car has broken down, as I’m sure you know. Carlos is working towards fixing it but he seems wary of the bear engine I have fitted. Anyway, I was walking to the station today, and I came across a cardboard box on the sidewalk. Naturally, I bent down to take a look and, oh! Listeners, you should have seen what was inside! Three gorgeous, gorgeous kittens! Khoshekh will have some friends. This is wonderful news, don’t you think? Of course, I picked the box up, and I took it to the station, and I’m planning on taking it home tonight, and won’t that be a wonderful surprise for my Carlos?” _

Carlos doesn’t even realise he’s picked up his phone until Cecil announces it.

_ “Oh- listeners, I’ll have to take this. It’s Carlos,”  _ Cecil says.  _ “Hello, Carlos, what can I do for you?” _

“Three kittens?” Carlos says. It’s almost an accusation, but only just. “I mean, three?”

_ “Just for tonight. We can discuss what we’ll do with them when we get home, Carlos. But you should see them, dove. They’re wonderful. I just couldn’t leave them there.” _

It’s not the kittens that are the problem. It’s whatever else they might be that worries Carlos. Adopting Khoshekh was fine, because Khoshekh is tied to the radio station bathroom. Adopting three kittens with the ability to actually move of their own accord, and need constant surveillance and feeding is an entirely different problem.

“But there’s three of them,” Carlos says again. His brain appears to be stuck on that fact.

_ “And they’re adorable,”  _ Cecil says.  _ “Carlos, I have to get back to work. But it was lovely to hear your voice. I thought you didn’t listen to my show when you were doing science because I’m too distrac-” _

“Okay, Cecil, I’ll see you later, I love you, goodbye,” Carlos says all in a rush, hanging up suddenly. He can hear Cecil moving slower over the radio, closing his phone and turning back to the microphone.

_ “Well, Night Vale, wasn’t that a nice surprise? The days are so long when I don’t hear from my darling Carlos. Now, back to the news. The station received a call from Tamika Flynn today, announcing that preparations for the Summer Reading Challenge are well underway, and she encourages anyone under the age of eighteen to sign up. You can join by going to the library and staying there for eight hours straight, and manage to return alive. I can’t wait to hear about all of the young people who survive the Reading Challenge. Of course, as with every year, we will have a dedicated tribute to all of those who lose their lives in the attempts…” _

The door to the lab swings up and shut again, and Dave and Stan appear with takeaway bags, all of which look satisfyingly greasy.

“Grubs up,” Stan announces. He places a bag beside Carlos, and another beside Rachelle and Lusia. “Thirty minute break and then back to work?”

“Sounds good,” Rachelle says. She digs into her bag, retrieving a carton of noodles and rice. Carlos delves into his own, pulling out a tub of rich smelling curry.

“Thanks, Dave,” he says, cracking the lid. “I owe you.”

“It’s on me,” Dave says, “Hey, consider proving Stan’s theory about the mountains wrong as a payment.”

“My theory isn’t wrong!” Stan protests.

Lusia says, “you haven’t even tested it yet.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s automatically wrong!”

“No,” Rachelle agrees, “but it is extremely likely. You’re not good with the geographical sites, Stan. Stick to the chemistry.”

“I’m perfectly good at geography,” Stan grumbles. “Carlos, tell her. Tell her I’m brilliant at science.”

Carlos makes a face. Rachelle and Dave burst out laughing.

“Carlos,” Stan whines.

“Fine,” Carlos says, “I wouldn’t have hired you if you were bad at science. Is that good?”

“It’s adequate,” Stan informs him.

“Oh, adequate,” Lusia says. “That’s reassuring. Get on and eat, Stan.”

Stan mumbles something under his breath and stuffs a loaded forkful of rice into his mouth. Several grains scatter onto the table, and one falls into the smoking beaker on his desk.

“Stan?” Rochelle says. The beaker turns a grimy yellow colour. “Are your experiments supposed to react to grains like that?”

Stan turns to examine the beaker, which is now bubbling dangerously. “Ah. No.”

Carlos puts his fork down. “What’s going to happen to it?”

“Um,” Stan says.

Dave slides under his desk, which is a slightly worrying precaution. Carlos can’t blame him for it, and decides to duck under his, too. Rachelle, Lusia, and Stan follow suit. 

There’s several minutes of tense silence before the beaker bubbles over. There’s a concerning hiss as the mixture makes contact with the desk, and then a pop, and an explosion. Really, Carlos should have expected the explosion in the first place.

Lusia is the first to emerge. Carlos watches her face as she assesses the damage, and he crawls out too. Stan’s desk is coated in a sticky residue, and there are several scorch marks in the surrounding area. The liquid itself has mostly evaporated, and Carlos isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“We’re going to need a new lunch rota,” she says, analysing the remains of it still attached to the door. Carlos can’t even see the rest of it.

“I spent ages on that,” Dave says. “And it’s the third one this week!”

“It’s not my fault,” Stan says immediately.

Given the slime dripping from his desk, and the scorch marks, and the hazy smoke surrounding his work space, Carlos can’t help but laugh. 

He says, “I’m going to need to call Cecil again,” with a sigh. “Looks like we’ll be here all night.”

* * *

He calls after the show ends. “Cecil, I’m so sorry. I know you wanted to make dinner tonight, but I’m going to be home late. I’m really sorry.”

_ “Did something happen?”  _ Cecil asks. He sounds concerned, not annoyed, thankfully.

“Um, yeah, sort off,” Carlos says. “Stan made a mistake, got a grain of rice in one of his experiments. Everything kind of went head over heels, and now the lab is covered in this sticky gloop and we’re going to have to stay to clear it up. I’m so sorry.”

“ _ Don’t apologise,” _ Cecil says,  _ “it’s not your fault, is it? If there’s anything I can do, just call me, okay? I can come and help. I’ll bring dinner with me.” _

“I’m sure my team would love that but, you’d have to walk all the way over. I mean, you’re always welcome here, but you don’t have to go out of your way.”

_ “For you, it’s nothing,” _ Cecil says.  _ “I’ll get there about six, with food, okay?” _

“If you’re sure,” Carlos says. “Thank you. This town would crash and die without you. I love you.”

Cecil hums out a breath.  _ “It’s not a problem, my darling. I’ll see you soon.” _

* * *

Cecil lets himself into the laboratory at six on the dot, carrying a Pyrex dish, a cardboard box that seems to squeak at irregular intervals and a smile on his face.

Rachelle gasps. “Cecil! Did you bring the kittens you talked about on the radio earlier?”

“Sure I did,” Cecil says. He puts the Pyrex dish and cardboard box on Carlos’s desk, reaching over to hook his arms around Carlos’s shoulders.

Usually, Carlos would be delighted to see him. He  _ is  _ delighted to see him. But a great deal of concern outweighs that delight, given Cecil’s less than stellar appearance. In fact, he looks about several seconds away from keeling over on his feet, which is a far cry from how he looked when Carlos waved good bye to him this morning.

“Are you feeling okay, babe?” Carlos asks. Rachelle and Dave hurry over to peer into the box, and Stan moves the Pyrex dish to start serving up. Carlos leans back so he can examine Cecil’s face, holding the back of his hand to his forehead and frowning.

“I feel fine, dove,” Cecil says. “Why?”

“You look sick,” Carlos says. “Like, really sick. You looked fine this morning. Are you sure you feel okay?”

Cecil shrugs. “My throat feels a bit tickly, but that’s all. I’m sure everything will go back to normal by tomorrow. Perhaps you’re just tired and stressed from the day. It seems like you’ve had a busy time.”

Carlos follows Cecil’s gaze to the remaining oozy gloop residing on Stan’s desk. “Yeah, you could say that. Thank you for bringing dinner.”

“Carlos, look!” Dave calls. He pulls one of the kittens out of the box, holding it up to his chest eagerly. “They’re so  _ fluffy.” _

Rachelle looks close to tears. “Carlos, if you don’t want to keep these kittens, I definitely will.”

Against his better judgement, Carlos can feel himself following slowly in love with the tiny balls of fluff. He purses his lips, reaching it to pick up one of them. Cecil picks up the third. They’re as soft as they look and, oh, fuck. “They are pretty cute.”

Cecil grins. “We’re going to keep them, aren’t we?”

“I think it would be dangerous to put them back on the street,” Carlos says, which, whilst true, is definitely just an excuse. “I guess we can keep them.”

“That means you’ll have to name them,” Lusia says. 

“Oh,” Cecil says, “I’ve already done that. This is Cookies, Dave is holding Cream, and Carlos has Fudge.”

Cream, who is a dusty grey colour, yawns widely. Dave looks like he melts on the spot.

“We’re not calling them that,” Carlos says. Fudge flexes her paws. It’s totally adorable. “We can keep them on the condition that we give them better names.”

“That’s a compromise I think I can make,” Cecil concedes. “What do you want to call them instead?”

“You should name them after scientists,” Rachelle suggests.

“I’ll name mine Nikola,” Dave says. Carlos looks at him.

“Cute,” Rachelle says, “what about you, Carlos?”

He bites his lip. “Uh… Marconi?”

Stan gushes, “that is  _ so  _ sweet.”

“Who’s Marconi?” Cecil asks.

Carlos feels the blush rising in his cheeks. “No one. What about yours, Cecil?” he says, trying to change the subject.

“Guglielmo Marconi,” Lusia says, “he invented radio.”

“Lusia!”

“You’re right, that is adorable!” Cecil exclaims. “Oh, Carlos. I’ll name mine Aristotle then.”

“This is so stupid,” Carlos says. He can’t deny it’s kind of cute, though. In a really painfully embarrassing way.

“It’s cute,” Dave says. “Cecil, these kittens are adorable.”

“And these meatballs are delicious,” Stan says. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I thank the Gods every day that Carlos has such an awesome boyfriend.”

Carlos groans. He buries his face in Marconi’s fluff, and tries desperately hard to ignore them all.

* * *

He almost manages to forget about whatever's ailing Cecil until they get to his car after (finally) clearing up the last of the gloop and finishing the meatballs Cecil had bought. It’s only until the light flicks on in the car and the pale white-yellow of it washes out Cecil’s features and makes him look worse than he is. His cheeks are flushed unnaturally so, and his eyes are shining brightly, like he has a fever.

“Maybe you should take tomorrow off,” Carlos suggests, starting the engine. “You know, you really don’t look too good.”

“I feel perfectly fine,” Cecil says. He has the box of kittens on his lap, wiggling one of his fingers inside it. Every so often, a tiny meow floats out of the box. “I think I’ll be okay to work tomorrow.”

“We’ll see tomorrow,” Carlos says. He pulls out of the parking lot. “It looks like you’re coming down with something. I don’t want you to push yourself too far, and I’m sure the station can manage without you for a day.”

“Of course,” Cecil agrees. Carlos isn’t sure what, exactly, he’s agreeing to, but he doesn’t say anything else on the way home, so Carlos doesn’t either. 

* * *

Carlos wakes up to see Cecil sitting in front of the full length mirror in their bedroom. It takes a minute for his eyes to readjust to the morning light, to the sunlight bleeding through the blinds and manage to focus on Cecil. When he does, he realises that Cecil’s holding the base of his throat, and tears are forming in his eyes, and Carlos is at his side immediately. 

“Cecil? Cecil, what happened? Are you hurt?”

Cecil tries to say something, but it doesn’t seem to work. He clutches his throat tighter, looking more and more distressed. 

“Hey,” Carlos says. He moves his hand to hold onto Cecil’s wrist, the other finding its way to the back of his neck like he’s trying to funnel his love through their points of contact. “Cecil, just… just calm down, okay? Tell me- tell me what’s happening.”

Cecil squeezes his eyes tightly together, and a tear drips out of them. He opens his mouth once more, but nothing at all comes out. Carlos feels his heart break in two, and he rushes to get the nearest notepad and writing implement, illegal or not. 

“Here,” he says, “just… just write it down. We’ll figure it out, okay?” It’s on the cusp of becoming a promise, but Carlos isn’t sure if he can figure this one out. Given Night Vale’s penchant for turning normalities into abnormalities, chances are Cecil will be fine by the evening. There’s an equally high chance that he’ll never get his voice back, and maybe the rest of his senses will start to disappear too.

Cecil writes for a long time. Somehow, his written words don’t mimic his physical state, because his scripture is as elegant as it always is. The only evidence that something is wrong is the sheer amount of scribbled out sentences, as if Cecil himself isn’t quite sure of the words. If nothing else, that’s what shakes Carlos to his core given Cecil is always so confident with his speech and his expressions.

By the time he’s done, there’s only four words still readable.  _ I’ve lost my voice. _

Carlos frowns at them, tries to decipher any of the crossed out phrases, and frowns at Cecil. “It’ll come back, though,” he says, which he intended to be comforting. In actual fact, Cecil’s face morphs into something resembling desperation and horror. Which is not what he intended.

He turns back to the notepad, scribbling urgently.  _ It might not. Lost voices are… they’re a fate worse than death, Carlos. If Station Management doesn’t kill me for being unable to do my job, then this ailment will. _

“You’re not going to die,” Carlos says. He’s not sure if he’s saying it more to himself, or to Cecil.

_ I’d rather die than be without a voice. _

“Don’t say that.”

_ It’s true. My words have power. You know that. What’ll become of me when I don’t have that? What will become of Night Vale, of you, without the strength of my words?  _ Cecil writes,  _ I couldn’t do that to my town. To you. _

“We’ll get your voice back,” Carlos says. “We’ll find it, wherever it is. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get it back, I promise.”

_ You shouldn’t. _

Carlos inhales deeply. “Surely you know by now that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

_ We might as well give up now. The chances of finding my voice again are ridiculously low. I don’t want you to risk anything you don’t need just for me. Carlos, I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. _

“And I refuse to let you wallow and lose faith in everything,” Carlos says. “We’ll find your voice, and we’ll get you to the station, and we’ll make everything okay.”

This time, when Carlos says, “I love you,” the absence of power behind the words is distinct, and not in a good way.

* * *

He calls in to the radio station for Cecil (‘Hi, I’m Carlos the Scientist, calling on behalf of Cecil Palmer, he won’t be coming in to work today.’) which goes a lot better than expected, given Cecil somehow has a backlog of vacation days that add up to approximately seven years worth. Still, that knowledge doesn’t do much to satiate Cecil’s anxiety, and his nervous energy is beginning to infect the entirety of their house.

Cecil’s taken up refuge on the couch, hidden almost entirely under a blanket, looking thoroughly sorry for himself. If Carlos didn’t know better, he’d simply assume that Cecil was feeling a bit under the weather. Since he does know better, he makes sure to keep a stack of empty notebooks on the end table, alongside one of his best pencils, Cecil’s phone, and the television remote. He also collects the box of kittens and places them beside Cecil on the couch, hoping that, if nothing else, they can help matters slightly.

Carlos decides to hover in the living room doorway, trying to see who he could call about this. Stan, or Rachelle, maybe. Dana, since she might know how to go about finding his voice again. Carlos thinks they could both do with some kind of reassurance - or at least, some semblance of knowledge, since the overwhelming lack of it is making his stomach feel funny. He would like to think that he’s gotten used to all of the curveballs Night Vale could (and has) thrown at him, but truthfully, Carlos thinks there are just some things he never expected to have to deal with.

He calls Dana.

“Carlos?”

“Hi, Dana,” he says, trying not to let the bite of worry make itself too obvious in his voice. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, thank you. You don’t normally call me,” she says, “is everything okay?”

Carlos swallows. “Well, yes, and no. Um. Cecil’s lost his voice.”

Dana is silent for such a long time that Carlos fears she might have lost hers as well. Eventually she whispers out, “what?”

“...Cecil lost his voice-”

“Yes, I heard that, but, I mean. Has he really?” Dana asks. She sounds incredibly concerned, which doesn’t do much good for Carlos’s nerves. He’s not quite sure if this is the price he’s willing to pay for information.

“As far as I can tell, yeah,” Carlos says, “he can’t say anything. I mean, he tries, but nothing comes out. I was just calling to see if you had any advice you could give me.”

“I think I’d best come round,” Dana says. Carlos barely has time to agree before she hangs up, and he decides the best course of action for now is to sit next to Cecil on the couch and try not to let his mind wander too far.

* * *

Dana lets herself in. Carlos wasn’t even aware she knew where the spare key was, but there isn’t time to dwell on that. The moment she sees them, she rushes to Cecil’s side. Thankfully, he seems reassured by her presence.

“So do you know what’s going on?” Carlos risks asking.  Dana looks from him to Cecil and back to him again, before grimacing.

“I… don’t. I have my suspicions, but I couldn’t know for sure,” she says, “I’m sorry, Cecil. If there’s any way to get your voice, we’ll do it. But I can’t make promises.”

Carlos is fairly certain his alarm matches Cecil’s now. “What?” He exclaims. Cecil grabs a notepad and starts scribbling with a similar fervor.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “But I’ve never seen anything like this-”

Cecil thrusts his notepad towards her. Carlos peers in to read over Dana’s shoulder,  _ What do you mean you can’t make promises? Dana, please. I’ve only ever seen this sort of thing happen once before and it was years ago. You have to help me fix this, please. _

“What do you mean, you’ve seen this before?” Carlos asks. That, if anything, sparks the faintest glimmer of hope inside him.

Cecil bites his lip and scribbles something else down.  _ It must have been nearly a century ago. The Whispering Forest took a voice, and we never got it back. We have to get mine back. _

“But I thought the Whispering Forest only appeared this… generation?” Dana asks. Carlos is slightly caught up on the knowledge that Cecil was alive a century ago; he knew, of course, that Cecil was near enough immortal, but there’s a difference between knowing and being directly faced with it.

_ No,  _ Cecil shakes his head,  _ It came once before. I was only a child then, but I remember it as well as anything. It took a voice and left as soon as it arrived. I fear that’s what’s happening now. _

“But surely your voice is so much more powerful,” Carlos says, “who knows what that could do for the Whispering Forest?”

Dana looks worried now. “You’re right. That wouldn’t be ideal. We’ll get your voice back one way or another, Cecil, and restore your power and strength in it.”

Cecil swallows before writing something else down. This paragraph also consists of a lot of scribbles out.  _ What about Night Vale? How will the town and it’s citizens fare in my silence?  _

“They’ll be fine,” Carlos starts to say.

_ My voice powers us all,  _ Cecil writes,  _ The town thrives off of it. I need to speak. It needs my words. _

“We don’t need to worry about that yet,” Dana says firmly. Her demeanor is rather more telling, and her hands shake very slightly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Night Vale will be fine for a week, and by then we’ll be well on our way to getting your voice back, if we don’t have it already.”

Cecil doesn’t look convinced.  _ One can only hope. _

Carlos scratches his brow. He hopes too, but somehow, he doesn’t feel particularly confident at all.

* * *

“I’m going to the lab,” Carlos says, half way into the evening. He’s spent the day at home with Cecil, but he also has a sixth sense for whenever something goes wrong with his scientists, and the alarm has been blaring since midday. “I won’t be long, I just need to check up on them. Make sure they haven’t burnt the building down.”

_ I understand,  _ Cecil writes. Ever since Dana left, he’s been even more down in the dumps. Carlos can’t blame him.  _ I’ll make dinner. _

“Okay,” Carlos says. He ducks his head so he can kiss Cecil. “I’ll only be an hour. Two at most. Unless they really have managed to blow the building up, in which case I’ll text you.”

Cecil’s lips quirk up slightly at that.  _ I love you. _

The words don’t command the same power when they’re on paper, but Carlos can feel an echo of the sentiment. For now, it’s enough.

* * *

“Carlos, you’ll never guess what,” is what Stan greets him with. It’s very slightly concerning. He’s waiting outside the lab door, too, which usually means there’s something inside that they don’t want him to see.

Carlos frowns. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Stan says, “why do you ask?”

“You only ever greet me outside the lab when something’s going on.”

Stan scoffs. “No, we don’t. Anyway, nothing’s going on. In fact, the only thing going on is that there’s nothing happening.”

“Can we go inside?” Carlos asks.

“Sure,” says Stan. He scratches at his elbow. “Rachelle’s working on stuff right now. She’ll have answers.”

He pauses with his hand on the door handle. “Answers to what?”

“You’ll see!”

This is remarkably unsettling, however not unusual for the laboratory. Carlos pushes the door open to reveal the largest collection of seismometres he’s ever seen in his life. Which is saying something, especially for Night Vale.

“What?” he asks, managing to spot Rachelle and Lusia hiding behind a wall of them.

“Look,” Stan says. He gestures to the nearest one. 

“It’s a seismometer.”

“No, really, look,” Stan says, “look closer.”

Carlos does. And when he notices it, he can’t unsee it. “ _ What? _ ”

“I know, right,” Rachelle remarks. She reappears from behind the wall of meters. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“When did this happen?” Carlos asks. “How?”

“This morning,” Lusia answers, “Stan was checking his experiments and Dave almost knocked one over when they noticed the seismometer on the window sill. And then they called us. We were going to call you, but when you didn’t come in this morning, we figured you were at home with Cecil and we didn’t want to bother you.”

“He didn’t look too good last night,” Rachelle says, “so we assumed you were just taking care of him.”

“Right,” Lusia agrees. “But Dave and Stan saw the meters, and they saw the results, and that was when we got every seismometer we had, and they all said the same thing.”

“There’s no earthquakes,” Stan says. He looks unnaturally serious, “none.”

“This is ridiculous,” Carlos says, even though the evidence is staring him in the face. He staggers into the nearest chair, trying not to believe it. Combined with what Cecil said about the Whispering Forest, and the power his voice has, and the apparent lack of earthquakes, it feels like the bottom is falling out of the entire world. However abnormal and unnatural Night Vale might be, he’s grown used to it, and now that those quirks aren’t there, Carlos isn’t sure how to process it. 

“Ridiculous but true,” Stan says. “The proof is right there.”

“I know,” Carlos says, trying incredibly hard not to sound as world weary as he feels.

“Hey, Cecil didn’t broadcast today,” Lusia says.

Rachelle says, “so?”

“What if that’s why the earthquakes stopped?” Lusia asks. “His voice has always seemed more powerful than others, what if that’s what causes the earthquakes?”

Carlos hates that she very well might be right. “It’s a credible theory,” he says.

Stan turns a disbelieving look on him, so he elaborates.

“Cecil’s lost his voice. Dana came round earlier, and Cecil said that his voice has a lot of power,” Carlos explains. “He said that Night Vale thrives on it, like his words power the town and the population, and everything. I didn’t really know what to make of it, but if the earthquakes have stopped, then what else will?”

“It might not be because he’s lost his voice,” Rachelle points out.

“I know,” Carlos says, “but it’s too close to be a coincidence, isn’t it? If Cecil is right that the town thrives on the power his words bring, and I don’t know why he’d lie about that, then it makes an alarming amount of sense.”

“Carlos is right,” Lusia says, “it does make sense. And if the earthquakes really are caused by Cecil’s voice, then what else will change? I never realised how much power his words had.”

“Like that day in the lab,” Stan remembers, “when you and him did that awful ‘I love you’ thing. What if the only reason your words had power is because you channeled it through him?”

Carlos sighs. “You’re probably right. None of my words have felt as strong since his voice went. And he seems really disheartened without it. I think maybe his voice powered more things than we realised.”

“Then we need to categorise this,” Rachelle says. “Find out what is and isn’t affected by it, and see what we can do to help it.”

Lusia nods, “that’s a good idea. But, Carlos, do you know why Cecil lost his voice?”

“Why?” Stan asks.

“He thinks the Whispering Forest is to blame,” Carlos says. “He said that he’s seen something like this before, a hundred years ago. They never found the person’s voice, which means that we will need to find Cecil’s. Who knows what the Forest could do with a voice as powerful as his?”

“So it’s happened before?” Rachelle says. None of them seem too hung up on the whole hundred years ago thing, thankfully. “That’s… well, I don’t want to say good. But at least we might have records of the incident?”

“That’s what I thought,” Carlos says, “but I don’t know where we would find them. I doubt they’ve been digitised, and if it only happened once, to one person, I don’t know if there would even have been an extensive investigation. Especially if it happened a century ago.”

“Then we’ll have to record everything we do here,” Stan says, “in case this happens again. And we’ll have to go to the library and see what they have there. Maybe someone could go to the Sheriff’s Secret Police and see if they have any files on hand, as well.”

“Good idea, Stan,” Lusia says. None of them seem particularly eager to volunteer to do either of the tasks, though.

“We should call Dave, Mark, and Nilanjana in,” Rachelle says. “All hands on deck.”

Carlos nods, pulling out his phone. “I’ll do that. And I should go home and see Cecil, first. I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. He’s really upset by all of this.”

“He may have lost his voice, but that doesn’t mean he can’t help us,” Lusia says, “if he likes, tell him he can come to the lab. We’ll find a job for him.”

“And tell him he can bring those adorable kittens round too,” Stan says.

“Will do,” Carlos says. “I’ll be back in a bit, so don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?”

Rachelle and Lusia both turn to look at Stan. Carlos chuckles and leaves them there. Sometimes it feels an awful lot like he’s babysitting children, rather than leading a team of world-class scientists.

* * *

Cecil is, as expected, in the same place as he was when Carlos left. The only difference being, now he has Nikola, Marconi, and Aristotle climbing all of his chest. It is, frankly, adorable.

“Hey,” Carlos says. He tiptoes into the room in an attempt not to disturb and frighten the kittens, kneeling down beside Cecil. “So me and the team are looking for ways to research into this. They’ve said you’re welcome to come to the lab and hang out, and Stan wants to see the kittens again.”

Cecil gives a noncommittal shrug. Carlos translates this as ‘I don’t know, maybe.’

He says, “that’s okay. You can stay here if you like, but I’ll go back to help. We’re going to go through the library and see if there’s any more records of what happened years ago, and maybe check with the Secret Police too.”

Cecil reaches out for a notepad and Carlos hands him one. He writes,  _ I’d love to come and help, but I don’t want to hinder you. _

“You’d never hinder us,” Carlos says. He reaches over so he can brush a lock of Cecil’s hair behind his hair. “Your help would be appreciated. Especially if you could tell us more about the first time this happened.”

_ I don’t know how much of that would be of use.  _

“Anything would be better than nothing.”

_ I’m afraid I don’t remember it too well,  _ Cecil writes. He looks distressed at the idea.  _ But okay. I’ll do my best.  _

“Thank you,” Carlos says. He leans closer towards Cecil, so that he can rest his forehead on Cecil’s shoulder. “We’ll fix this, Cecil. We will.”

* * *

Cecil doesn’t leave Carlos’s side once they arrive back at the lab. Cecil’s carrying the cardboard box with the kittens in, one of his arms looped in Carlos’s. It’s like he’s shy without his voice, like every single one of his steps is tentative and directionless. 

“Oh- you’re back,” Stan says. “Hi Cecil. Have you got the kittens?”

Cecil nods. He places the box down on Carlos’s desk, looking utterly out of place, like his entire universe has been thrown off balance.

“Where is everyone?” Carlos asks. Stan hurries over and pulls Marconi out of the box. Dave and Rachelle aren’t here, and Lusia is engrossed in a heavy book at her desk.

“Dave and Rachelle went to the library,” Stan says. “They’re going to bring back as many books as they can from the last century. And maybe some before that. I don’t know. Whatever they can find. And Lusia found a book that she had from university that she said might have something in.”

“Right,” Carlos says. Cecil detaches himself from Carlos and leans into the box, playing with Aristotle and Nikola. “Have you found anything yet?”

Stan shakes his head. “No. Well, not really. I was going over all the readings we’ve taken from the Whispering Forest. There’s no change at all, except for a massive energy spike yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Carlos repeats. “But… Cecil lost his voice yesterday.”

“I know,” Stan says, “he lost his voice yesterday. Okay, just think about it. Think about the sort of energy that something would have to expel in order to take a voice from someone. Especially one as powerful as Cecil’s. From someone as powerful as Cecil is. It would take massive amounts. Hypothetically.”

“Right,” Carlos agrees. What he says is true. Hypothetically. And the energy spike makes sense. There’s something morbidly reassuring about having the answer, despite it generating more questions. “But where did it get that energy from? And what is it using Cecil’s voice for? It can’t be anything good. With that power, the Forest could take everyone’s voice. Or… worse.”

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Stan nods. He looks about as grim as Carlos feels. “Or worse. Yeah. That’s why we need to get Cecil’s voice back. And maybe we can get the Forest to back off. Or disappear completely. Or something. I don’t know. Yet.”

“Then let’s just hope that we can figure it out,” Carlos says. One of the kittens makes a noise - it sounds like Aristotle - and Stan returns Marconi to Cecil’s hand. Carlos himself moves to stand at Cecil’s shoulder, looping his arms around Cecil. Aristotle scurries his way up Cecil’s arm and onto Carlos’s, coming to rest in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. It’s almost so adorable that Carlos can forget about the sharpness of his claws. 

He can hear when Cecil lets out a breath, like he’s about to say something. Carlos pulls a pad of paper towards them, and a pencil, only for Cecil to ignore them. He starts tracing characters into Carlos’s skin instead.

The door swings open, and Dave and Rachelle return. Between them, they’re carrying what must be nearly forty different books, each one looking appropriately ragtag and dusty. Dave is red in the face, and Rachelle has barely broken a sweat, which just makes Dave even redder.

“Oh! You brought the kittens!” Dave exclaims as soon as he sees the box. He seems dangerously close to dropping the books he’s carrying, before he seems to remember himself and gently place them on the nearest worktop, before rushing over to the kittens.

Rachelle goes at a slower pace, putting her own pile of books down and coming around to squeeze Cecil’s hands. “Hi, Cecil. It’s great to see you again.”

Cecil pats her arm. Luckily, she seems to understand it for what it is, and smiles at him.

“Can I ask you a couple of questions about how you feel?” she asks. Carlos’s arms tighten around him, and Cecil nods. “Thank you. Let me just…”

She heads to the back of the laboratory, beginning to dig around in the cupboards there. Carlos wonders just what she’ll find - he doesn’t think anyone’s been in those cupboards since they put anything in them.

Cecil reaches out for the paper now. He writes,  _ I didn’t know she was a medical doctor. _

Carlos nods. “Yeah. On paper, she is. In Night Vale, she just hasn’t really had a chance to put that into practice. We’re mostly focused on the geological or meteorological science here.”

_ Understandably,  _ Cecil writes, even though Carlos is sure that he doesn’t particularly understand anyway. 

Rachelle returns. She has a stethoscope around her neck, and several notebooks fit to bursting. Carlos didn’t even know they had a stethoscope. “Okay,” she says, “I just want to take some baselines, you know, make sure that you’re okay. Aside from the obvious.”

Cecil nods. He lifts his hands to hold on tightly to Carlos’s.

“Great,” Rachelle says. “So, do you remember anything from the night you lost your voice? Like, did you feel anything out of the ordinary?”

_ No, _ Cecil writes. He takes several minutes to continue the sentence.  _ I woke up, and I couldn’t speak. I could feel it’s absence in my throat. _

“Like something had gone?”

_ Like I’d lost something,  _ Cecil writes. Carlos inhales sharply.  _ I didn’t quite know what until I tried to say something, to wake Carlos up. Of course, it didn’t work. _

Rachelle’s eyes take on something of a pitiful shimmer. “Right. So you didn’t feel anything?” Cecil shakes his head. “Okay. Can you open your mouth, say ‘ahh’?”

Cecil does as instructed. Carlos watches Rachelle for any kind of reaction, and is relieved when she doesn’t do anything to convey alarm. In fact, she mostly seems stumped.

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?” Carlos asks.

“Everything looks normal,” she says. “Completely, totally, fine.”

_ Is that surely not a good thing?  _ Cecil writes.

“Of course it’s a good thing,” Rachelle says, “it just means that… that whatever the Forest is doing, it’s completely painless. And has no symptoms, except for the loss of voice. At least, as far as I can tell.”

Carlos frowns. “As far as you can tell?”

“I can’t exactly perform an in-depth examination in the lab,” Rachelle says. She taps her fingers together. “In all honesty, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Just anything that might help.”

“Speaking of things that might help,” Lusia calls out. “I might have something.”

Rachelle puts her stethoscope down and turns to her. “What is it?”

Carlos looks over too. He doesn’t want to leave Cecil’s side, not if he can help it. 

“I found an account of the last time someone lost their voice,” Lusia says. She lifts up the book she’s been leafing through. From here, all Carlos can see is a page of tiny print. “There’s no specific answers, but at least we can understand where it came from and hopefully how it happened.”

“That’s great,” says Dave. He puts his own book down and leans over Lusia’s shoulder. His face falls almost as soon as he finishes reading the page. “Oh. That’s not so great.”

“What’s not so great?” Carlos asks immediately. He moves too, leaning over Lusia’s other shoulder to read the page. “Oh.”

They all turn concerned faces to Cecil, who looks deeply alarmed. He scrawls down,  _ What is it?,  _ and holds it up, frowning something full of fear at Carlos.

Dave clears his throat. “Um. It’s a report of the cause of death. Of the last person who lost their voice.”

Cecil shrugs, like he’s trying to say, ‘yeah, and?’

“It says they died by evaporation,” Carlos says dully. If he shows any sort of emotion about this, he’s sure he’ll burst into tears. “The only body part left was the tongue.”

Cecil’s brows draw together, like he’s trying very hard to pretend that he isn’t as scared as he is.  _ Will that happen to me, then? _

“Not if I can help it,” Carlos says. It’s just so nearly a promise; but one he’s not sure he can keep.

Cecil holds his hand up and writes,  _ Tell me honestly. It’s my body. I want to know the truth. _

Stan glances at Carlos and then at Cecil. “There’s a chance that it’ll happen to you. Hopefully a very low chance.”

_ But you’re not certain. _

Stan confirms, “No. We’re not certain. But we’ll all do our best to make sure your voice is returned safely and uncontaminated.”

_ What in the world could contaminate my VOICE? _

Stan looks at Carlos, Rachelle, Lusia, and then Dave. “Um. Best not to think about that.”

Cecil makes a face that is stuck somewhere between fear, confusion, and bone deep concern. Carlos is fairly certain he’s making the same face right now too, so he settles for putting his hands on Cecil’s cheeks and saying, “we won’t let it come to that.”

It doesn’t do much to quell his fears, and by the looks of it, doesn’t do much to quell Cecil’s either.

“Carlos is right,” Dave agrees, “we won’t let it come to that. You don’t have anything to worry about, Cecil. Everything is going to be fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u like!!!

Everything is not fine.

Cecil wakes up the next morning looking far paler than usual. His eyes are much lighter than they usually are, and even his hair has turned grey in place of white-blond. It’s like his lack of a voice is drawing his life force from him. Regardless of his physical appearance, though, he doesn’t seem tired or run down at all.

It’s not reassuring. 

Dave texts Carlos, saying that ‘he, Lusia, and Dana are going to the Whispering Forest, would he like to join them?’ and Carlos accepts immediately, because he has to know. He has to do something. Anything.

“I’m going to the Forest,” he tells Cecil, “I’ll be back by lunch time. Rachelle and Stan are at the lab if you want to hang out there. I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

Cecil nods absently. He strokes his index finger along Marconi’s back, before holding her up so Carlos can kiss her head. He switches her out for Aristotle and Nikola so Carlos can kiss their heads too. Finally, he leans forward so Carlos can kiss him as well.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

Cecil picks up the nearest notebook and writes,  _ be safe. _

Carlos agrees. It wouldn’t do for him to become part of the Forest in his attempt to stage a rescue mission. “I will be. You too.”

The smile Cecil gives him is tired and small, but a smile all the same. It sends a delightful shiver down Carlos’s spine, and he holds as tightly as he can to that feeling as he heads out the door and down to the Whispering Forest. 

* * *

Dave and Lusia are waiting on the edge of the Forest when he arrives. Lusia looks fully engrossed in a book, holding several scientific looking instruments. Dave is gazing at the Forest like he can’t quite believe it’s actually there.

“Where’s Dana?” Carlos asks.

Dave turns to him. “Morning, Carlos. She’ll be here in a minute. She’s bringing ear defenders in the hopes that that’ll stop us being able to hear the whispers.”

“Unless the whispers are on a low level telepathic frequency,” Carlos says.

“Yeah,” Dave says, “unless that. In which case we’ll probably have a much harder time doing this.”

“We shouldn’t stay in the Forest for too long,” Lusia says. She looks up from her book and offers Carlos a smile. “Who knows what’ll happen to us in there, and prolonged exposure will likely make it harder to leave. Unless, of course, we build up a tolerance to it, but I don’t want to test that just yet.”

“Good idea,” Carlos says. He doesn’t particularly want to go into the Forest at all. But it’s for Cecil. Which means he could do anything.

Dana arrives with four sets of headphones looped around her arm. She’s doing a wonderful job at pretending she isn’t as afraid as she is. The smile she adopts when she sees them is one hundred percent genuine.

“Oh, good, you’re all here,” she says. She hands out the ear defenders. “Now, I don’t actually know if these are going to work, but it’s worth a try.”

“It’s a good idea,” Carlos says. He puts his pair over his head, making sure to leave one ear open. “Are we ready to go?”

Dave grimaces. “As I’ll ever be.”

Lusia puts her headphones on and takes the first step into the Forest. Carlos follows her, and then Dana, with Dave brining up the rear. The ear defenders work wonderfully - Carlos can’t hear anything except for the rushing of blood in his head and his own breathing.

And, after several seconds, the very faint whisperings of the Forest. Carlos lifts the right ear cuff of the defenders. He hears Dave say, “wow. Telepathic trees. That’s incredible.”

Dana says, “we have to keep moving. If we stay still, or listen too hard, we’ll fall victim to the trees.”

“Maybe the trees are full,” Carlos suggests. It’s a long shot. “They took Cecil’s voice, maybe they don’t need anything else for a while. Maybe they’re harmless.”

“It’s a risk I’d rather not take,” Dana says.

“It’s a good point,” Lusia says, “but I think we’d be better off if we just keep going and try to figure out our main problem first. We should see if we can find… a leader, or something.”

“Trees wouldn’t have a democracy,” Dave says.

“They might,” says Dana. Carlos wouldn’t be surprised.

He sighs. “How would we go about finding a tree leader, in a forest?”

They all fall silent.

“Right,” Carlos says. “We could talk to the trees?”

“Seriously?” Dave makes a face.

Lusia shrugs, “if the trees can speak and have a comprehensive understanding of language, it’s reasonable to expect that they could listen as well.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Dana says.

It’s not exactly the most scientific thing in the world, and Carlos definitely feels like an idiot when he steps up to the base of one of the trees and says, “hello. My name is Carlos, and um, I’d like to see your leader.”

There’s a painfully awkward silence in which Carlos reevaluates everything he’s ever said. Then, the tree he spoke to creaks and moves until it’s branches form an arrow, and the trees around it form arrows too.

“I didn’t expect that to work,” Dave says.

“Should we follow it?” Dana asks.

Carlos watches as even more trees start to form arrows, dictating a route through the Forest. “It’s the only lead we have. Let’s follow it.”

He steps around Lusia to lead their way deeper into the trees. The further he goes, the brighter it gets, which is disconcerting given the trees thicken around them and less and less light is let through. It’s almost like the trees are producing light from within themselves.

“This is incredible,” Dave says.

It is. It is incredible. If Carlos wasn’t on a mission, he’d like to spend hours in here, studying it. 

“Bioluminescent trees,” Lusia says. She sounds totally awed. “I want to stay here forever.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Dana says. “Just in case.”

Carlos agrees. He’s been moving steadily, and still, moss is growing over his shoes like it wants to keep him there. 

The arrows come to a stop beside a tree that seems larger and older than the rest. Carlos exchanges a look with Dave and Lusia, and steps up to the base of the trunk.

He clears his throat. There isn’t exactly a script for this, so he says, “Uh, hi. I’m Carlos. My team and I would like to ask you a few questions about something. If that’s okay. Thanks.”

Once more, there’s several minutes of tense silence as the trees seem to process his words. Then, a figure melts out of the trunk, floating several inches above the ground. They’re wearing a silvery green outfit - Carlos can’t tell if it’s pants, or a skirt, or both. Their eyes, mostly, is what Carlos focuses hardest on. He’s growing more and more accustomed to abnormal facial features in Night Vale, but the figure has a second pair in their forehead, and all four eyes are different colours, and move around independently.

“Huh,” Dave says.

“Hi,” Carlos says, trying hard not to let his fear run into his voice. “I’m…”

“Carlos the Scientist,” the figure says. Their voice is like sandpaper, but still, Carlos never wants to listen to anything else. “Yes. You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Carlos agrees. He’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to.

“The Voice speaks of you often,” the figure continues. “We’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

“The- the voice? You mean, Cecil’s voice?”

“He was merely the carrier. But yes, that voice,” the figure says. “ You could call me  Á rbore. I hear you have questions to ask of me. Answers I can’t promise, but perhaps you’ll learn something.”

Carlos inhales. Somehow, the very presence of the spirit - or whatever it is - is incredibly draining. “Right. Thanks. Um. What do you want with Cecil’s voice?”

Á rbore sighs. Their breath feels all sorts of tingly. “We want it’s power. It’s strength.”

“But what for?”

“For strength, and for power,”  Á rbore answers. It doesn’t answer anything at all.

Carlos looks at Dave. He’s reassured to know that he looks as confused as Carlos feels. “Okay. Can we have it back, maybe?”

“Why would we return it?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Dana says. She steps next to Carlos. “Because you can’t steal something from someone. I’m sure if you had just asked Cecil, he would have made a deal with you about whatever you need his voice for. You didn’t need to just take it.”

“We don’t need him,”  Á rbore says, “we needed the Voice. Surely you know that the voice doesn’t belong to him? It was never his.”

“What do you mean?” Carlos asks.

Á rbore makes a noise that could almost be a laugh. The rest of the trees echo it. “He never owned that voice. He carried it, and he used it, and he kept it, but it never belonged to him.”

“So who did it belong to?” Lusia asks. She’s the only one of them who doesn’t sound like she’s trying to disguise any fear in her voice. She doesn’t sound scared at all. “And how did Cecil come to be in possession of it?”

“What voice wouldn’t want to inhabit a presenter?”  Á rbore says, “to have its words spread to furthest corners? We could only dream of it.”

“So you took his voice to be heard?” Lusia summarises.

“I’m glad you understand. You are brilliant, aren’t you?” 

Carlos glares at Á rbore. “Don’t do that. I know what your trees do to keep us here, and it’s not going to work. I just want my boyfriend’s voice back, and I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Then I suppose,”  Á rbore says, sounding like they’re teasing, “you’ll be staying here forever. It’ll be an honour to make a home in amongst our trees for you, scientist.”

“We’re going to leave with him, and with Cecil’s voice,” Dana says firmly, “and perhaps if we do, we can continue to co-exist peacefully.”

Á rbore looks faintly amused. “Co-exist peacefully?”

“Yes,” Dana says. “So give us back Cecil’s voice, please. And then we can discuss our continued co-existence. Peacefully.”

The trees laugh again. It’s nearly insulting, and greatly uncomfortable.

“Please,” Carlos tries. His voice cracks. “Please, just give us his voice back. It’s… the town will die without it.  _ Cecil  _ might die without it. Just give his voice back and we’ll leave you alone.”

“Your emotion is touching,”  Á rbore says. It doesn’t sound like they find it touching. Mostly it sounds like they think it’s embarrassing. “But alright. One week. Then we’ll have no further use for his, and we’ll return it.”

“What if Cecil doesn’t last that long?” Dave asks.

Á rbore shrugs. “He isn’t part of the forest. Perhaps if he’s as strong as you say, he’ll pull through regardless.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Carlos says. He can feel his chest tightening at the idea that Night Vale might not last a week. That Cecil might not last a week.

“He isn’t part of the forest,”  Á rbore repeats. “It wouldn’t be our tragedy to mourn.”

“So you’d steal his voice, his life force, and you wouldn’t care at all?” Carlos demands. He feels anger bubble up inside him. “Once he’s exceeded your purpose, you don’t care? You have no use for him? Is that it?”

“I’m glad you understand,”  Á rbore says. Their eyes, each one of them, turn on Carlos with a cold sort of malice. “You ought to leave now. We’ll return his voice in due time, but you would like to be there to see it, wouldn’t you?”

Á rbore melts back into their tree. None of the arrows return; if anything, the trees grow closer together, hiding the way out. Carlos tries to move his feet, feeling a jolt of fear run through him when he realises that moss and weeds have fully covered his shoes now, and are working their way up his legs.

His watch says it’s just barely midday, but the lack of sunlight makes it seems later. The light that emanated from the tree trunks on their way here is going out too. All of a sudden, the Forest seems even darker, damp, and lonely.

“We should leave,” Dana says. She sounds utterly terrified now, and her voice seems to sink into the undergrowth until it’s half the volume it usually would be. Even the whispers seem to grow louder than they were on the way in, until Carlos can barely ignore them.

“Dana’s right,” Lusia says. Even she sounds slightly scared now. “Does anyone remember the way out?”

Dave shakes his head. He’s gazing straight up to the roof of the Forest, like if he tries hard enough he can see directly through the leaves. “Everything looks the same in here.”

“We can’t stay here, though,” Carlos points out. Even venturing into the Forest as they did today would be a supremely bad idea. Staying even longer would be even worse.

“We’ll have to get out of here somehow,” Dana says. She grits her teeth and squares her shoulders. “Well, there’s no point in standing around here all day. We might as well make a start.”

“And if we go the wrong way?” Dave asks.

Something in her facade cracks. Dana says, “we’ll die if we stay around here anyway. We might as well make an effort.”

* * *

Carlos isn’t even sure how, exactly, they made their way out of the forest. All he knows is that he’s distinctly glad that they managed it.  Á rbore was right when they said that all the answers they gave would inspire more questions, but Carlos feels just slightly relieved at having done  _ something.  _ And now he knows that they’ll return Cecil’s voice in a week.

All he has to do now is make sure Cecil, and the town, survive until then. 

* * *

Thursday dawns grey and rainy, which is unusual for Night Vale, being a desert town, and sets something of a dangerous precedence. Cecil wakes up looking as grey and watery as the sky itself, like he’s just one breath from blowing away completely. Carlos doesn’t like it one single bit.

He’s not entirely sure how they’re going to make it to the end of the week. 

Cecil is sluggish and sleepy all day. He doesn’t leave their bed, and he can barely remember his own name, and it terrifies Carlos. He finds himself lingering in the doorway of their bedroom, not wanting to take his eyes off of Cecil for a second.

Cecil doesn’t seem to notice, nor pick up on Carlos’s nervous energy. Which is something of a surprise to Carlos, given he can feel his fear crackling in the air around them, like some sinister form of static electricity, and Cecil is usually so intune with Carlos’s emotions.

The only attempt at normalcy that Carlos can provide is to carry Marconi, Nikola, and Aristotle upstairs and place them all on the bed next to Cecil. Marconi immediately crawls over to sit in the middle of Cecil’s chest, while Aristotle and Nikola curl up at his side. Cecil, luckily, seems to find their presence comforting.

Carlos sets up camp in the hallway. He doesn’t want to smother Cecil, not really, but he doesn’t want to go far. Just in case the Whispering Forest decides that they need his body too, or… something. He triple checks the front door lock, too.

Just in case.

He keeps his cell phone to hand, makes sure that Cecil has access to a multitude of notepads, and his own phone, and a little novelty ring-bell in case he urgently needs something. Carlos isn’t sure that Cecil will actually use anything of it; he seems content enough to lie in the dark and barely move at all. Maybe he’s just acting on a single, tiny sliver of hope that Cecil will snap out of it and everything will turn out totally, completely, entirely fine.

He exhales so heavily he can see his breath dispel the dust in the air and turns back to his science textbooks. He has a paper on conceptual time travel to finish, and  Á rbore gave him a deadline. Carlos is fairly certain that they’ll stick to the timeline, so there’s no point in worrying excessively.

Even though he will worry excessively. Even though he moves to make sure he can Cecil’s every move through their bedroom door. Even though he keeps the Night Vale General Hospital, and Dana, on speed dial.

* * *

Dana calls him around five in the evening, just before Carlos can call her first.

“Carlos? God, how is he?” she says as soon as he picks up. “I saw that photo you sent earlier - he looks absolutely awful. I’m sorry I couldn’t ring sooner.”

Carlos pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and says, “it’s no problem. Um, he’s… he’s not great, I don’t think. He hasn’t really said anything all day. He doesn’t respond when I say his name, or when I look at him, or hug him or anything. It’s like he’s forgetting who he is.”

“Right,” Dana says, “that’s awful, of course, but it makes sense. Lusia found another source that might be relevant. About his voice? The one with the power, the Voice. She said that it’s like a sentient being, and chooses a host to, for lack of a better word, possess. It’s perfectly harmless, usually. But it’s something of a symbiotic relationship.”

Carlos had suspected something like that. It’s different to having it actually confirmed, though.

Dana continues, “the Voice draws its power from Cecil, and Cecil draws his power from the voice. You can’t exactly have one without the other.”

“Cecil said that Night Vale draws its strength from him,” Carlos says. “I’m worried that this is going to affect the town, too.”

Dana is silent for a minute. Then, she says, like she can hardly believe she’s saying it, “it already is affecting the town.”

“What?”

“It’s already affecting the town,” she repeats. “His broadcasts are like a source of energy, peace, and knowledge for us. They’ve always been there. Now, they’ve been taken away suddenly. The town doesn’t know what to do with itself. We’re unsettled. We’re upset. Carlos, I’m…”

She doesn’t have to say it for him to know what she’s thinking.  _ I’m not sure we’ll make it much longer.  _ “I know,” Carlos says. It goes unsaid that they’ll have to anyway. They both already know.

He’s afraid of what tomorrow will bring. Such a sudden deterioration in one day doesn’t hold much hope for the future, and Carlos isn’t sure for how much longer he’ll be able to tolerate seeing Cecil wither away in bed. One day has been more than enough.

“Dave noticed another thing, too,” Dana says, “similar to the earthquakes.”

“What is it?”

“Radon Canyon,” she says. Carlos can’t tell what emotion undercuts her words, but he’s not sure if it’s a good one. “The radiation levels are falling.”

“What?” Carlos asks. “But that’s… that can’t be. How?”

Dana says, “they think it’s another side effect of Cecil losing his voice. All of those scientifically interesting abnormalities are neutralising. Without Cecil to speak over them, there’s no reason for them to be there. Cecil is the heart of this town.”

“I know he is,” Carlos says. There’s no denying it - Cecil belongs to Night Vale, and Night Vale belongs to him. “That’s why we have to fix it. I’m not going to let him just become a shell, and let Night Vale die out.”

“Night Vale won’t die out,” Dana says fiercely. “I’ll make sure of it. This is our town too. We just need Cecil to be there for it.”

Carlos grits his teeth. “He’ll hang on. He has to. It’s only a few more days. How much worse can it get?”

* * *

Famous last words, Carlos supposes, when he wakes up on Friday and Cecil looks to be almost utterly translucent, like he’s about one wrong move from falling straight through the mattress. Carlos is almost afraid to touch him, for fear that it’ll dispel each and every single one of Cecil’s atoms.

He can’t even comfort himself with the knowledge that it’s virtually impossible to dispel every single atom from a person, because none of what’s happened should be possible. Spirits don’t live in trees, or take people’s voices, voices don’t trigger earthquakes, and the entire town should be suffering from some form of radiation poisoning but they’re  _ not.  _ None of it should be possible, and yet, here he stands.

And here Cecil lies. He looks so far gone, Carlos isn’t sure he could pull him back anymore.

Marconi and Nikola barely leave Cecil’s side. Aristotle clambers up to sit on Carlos’s shoulder and doesn’t leave him alone, which is heart wrenchingly sweet in an increasingly upsetting way.

Dana sends him periodic texts inquiring after Cecil. Once Carlos tells her that Cecil is more invisible then he is tangible, she doesn’t reply for four hours and eighteen minutes. When she does reply, it’s a single ‘Fuck.’ Which, in Carlos’s opinion, is remarkably apt.

Dave also sends him messages. He asks about the kittens in what is a poorly hidden attempt to ask about Cecil, so Carlos tells him that Aristotle won’t leave him alone, and that Marconi and Nikola have spent the past twenty hours straight asleep. He doesn’t have to mention that Cecil has also spent the past twenty hours drifting. Dave is smart enough to hear the implication, and Carlos knows all too well that saying it makes it all too real.

The doorbell rings once around three, and when Carlos goes to answer it, he finds a wicker basket wrapped in clear cellophane on their doorstep in place of an actual person. He picks it up and takes it to the kitchen table to start picking through it.

There’s a small card tied to the handle, addressed to him and Cecil, which he reads first.

_ Carlos, and Cecil  
_ _ We’ve all heard about Cecil’s illness. Everyone misses him so much, and we hope he just gets better soon.  
_ _ You too, Carlos. Don’t forget to unclench your jaw every once in a while.  
_ _ Love, Josie, John, Tamika, Abby, Janice, Steve, and the rest of the town. _

It’s awfully sweet. He unpacks the rest of the basket, separating the items into things Cecil could have now, and things that’ll have to wait for when he gets his strength back. The pile of things for now is distinctly larger than the things for not, which makes Carlos wonder just how much everyone knows about what’s going on.

He takes a paper bag of candies upstairs, along with a pair of fluffy boot slippers, an eye mask, and a box of lemon and ginger tea, as well as the card. Cecil doesn’t like lemon and ginger tea, but Carlos is the only one who knows that, because it’s the only tea that Abby drinks, and Cecil doesn’t want to make her feel bad. 

He puts all of the items on the bedside table, well within Cecil’s reach, and smoothes down an errant curl on Cecil’s forehead. He’s just as pasty and feverish as he has been, but the opacity of his skin is something new, and something that fills Carlos with a bone deep dread. He keeps trying to tell himself that it can’t get worse, it can’t get worse.

But he can’t bring himself to believe it. Every waking hour, Cecil’s condition worsens slightly, and for every sleeping one, he worsens dramatically.

Carlos doesn’t know how he can bear to watch Cecil waste away in front of his eyes, watch his face become so gaunt he looks almost dead, and watch his skin become paler and paler until Carlos can practically see their bedsheets through him. He just knows that he can’t look away, not for a second.

Rachelle and Lusia both text him, and Rachelle tries to call, but Carlos doesn’t pick up. She leaves a voicemail, saying: “We all just wanted to check in. Dana said Cecil is getting worse, and we’ve noticed what’s happening around the town too. Stan says that this might not be all Cecil. There might be something else. I’ll tell you about it later, just call me back when you can. And, Carlos, feel free to come in whenever you like. I know Cecil needs and deserves all your focus, but we’re on the third lunch rota in the space of five hours.”

Lusia’s text is simply:  _ Dave is stupid. Do not come to the lab for the next forty eight hours without a gas mask. I hope Cecil’s doing okay. _

Her text is like a breath of fresh air, a rush of disturbing normality, and Carlos can think clearly for just a few moments. 

For the rest of the evening, Carlos lies as close to Cecil as he dares, not wanting to disturb him or the kittens (who, despite Cecil’s current transparency, are having no difficulty in curling into balls on his stomach and falling asleep). He watches all three of their tiny diaphragms rise and fall, and tries to watch Cecil’s as well before realising that he can hardly see it move at all.

Slowly, the sun sets and night falls, and Cecil, who usually looks positively radiant under moonlight, looks even paler. It’s like Carlos is watching Cecil decay in real time, and he can’t do anything about it. All he wants is to turn back the clock and hold Cecil tightly, and maybe punch a couple of trees too, out of spite and fear.

He settles for placing his hand near Cecil’s, so they could almost be holding hands, and watching the kittens sleep. They, at least, seem at peace. Even if no one else is.

* * *

Saturday rolls around with a beautiful, if lacklustre, sunrise. It’s like even the sun has decided it’s too much to continue on. The entire town seems incredibly subdued, and when Carlos would normally hear traffic, people, or breathing, he hears nothing. Like they’ve all stayed at home today.

Abby drops off another care package, and this time she waits around for Carlos to open the door. She looks like she’s barely been sleeping, and Carlos can’t look much better. He wonders how much of that is down to Cecil’s condition, or to the effect of Cecil’s condition.

“Carlos,” she says. It’s not really a real greeting, but she says it with love and hope and such a depth of emotion that Carlos could never hope to understand. “Is he…?”

Carlos swallows before he answers her. “He’s worse. He’s… he looks like a ghost. Like you could reach right through him.”

“Oh, gosh,” she says. She takes a step back.

“You can come and see him, if you like,” Carlos offers. He’s not actually sure it would be a good idea for Abby to see Cecil - on the basis that he loves Cecil just as much as she does, and seeing Cecil like this is tearing him clean in two.

“Maybe we’ll pop back round later,” Abby says. “I have Janice in the car, and we have to get back. Everyone sends their love, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says. He’s not sure what else to say back.

“Dana asked me to come round to check on you,” she continues, “she said you didn’t reply to any of them yesterday?”

Carlos nods. He lets the faintest hint of a grimace slide onto his face. “Yeah. Um, I’ll tell them I’m fine, but I was just… distracted. I guess.”

“That’s understandable,” says Abby, “but, remember that they love you. And they care about Cecil too. And maybe they’ve made some groundbreaking discovery that they urgently need to tell you about.”

“ _ Have  _ they found some groundbreaking discovery that they urgently need to tell me about?” Carlos asks. The way Abby says it is vague, and he’s not sure just what she means by it. Important discovery is a term often used quite liberally when it comes to his team.

Abby just shrugs at him, in an awfully inconclusive way. Just like Cecil does. “I don’t know. I don’t understand half of what you and your team go on about. But Carlos? Just give them a call.”

“I will,” he says. “Thanks, Abby. I’ll tell Cecil you came round. I’m sure if he was more corporeal, he’d be sad he missed you.”

“There are a million more days for him to miss me,” Abby says dismissively. “We just need to make sure he lives to see them.”

Carlos couldn’t agree more. He holds on so tightly to the package she hands him that his knuckles turn white, and he watches her retreat back to her car. He can see Janice sitting in the passenger seat, so he waves to her, and waits for them to drive off.

Once they do, he closes the door and lets his forehead fall against it. The days feel like they’re getting longer, but he doesn’t have anything to show for it.

* * *

Carlos starts to think about what Cecil’s funeral might look like, and he hates himself for it. The week isn’t up yet, and he has no reason not to trust what  Á rbore said (as far as he can tell, forest spirits don’t tend to lie to their company), but Cecil is looking nearer and nearer the grave with each passing hour. 

It’s sickening. 

He feels like a voyeur in his own home, like he should be putting coins over Cecil’s eyes and praying to the far beyond, not staring at him like a zoo animal in the hopes that he does  _ something. _

Dana leaves him another voicemail that evening, this time saying that she “hopes they’re both doing okay, and it’d be really great to hear from you soon, Carlos. I know things can’t be easy for you, but we’re all worried about you both. Take care, okay? Just a few more days and then this will all be over.”

Carlos just isn’t totally sure that Cecil is going to last a few more days. 

He decides he might as well phone the team, so he leaves Cecil in their bedroom and heads down to the kitchen. There, he calls Rachelle’s phone, hoping that they’re all still at the lab together.

“Carlos?! Carlos!” Rachelle says. “Guys, Carlos is on the phone!”

“Hey, Rachelle.”

“Wow, it’s so good to hear from you. What’s with this radio silence? Normally you can’t get away from us,” she says. There’s a shuffling noise, which Carlos assumes is the rest of the team gathering around her phone. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I was just… distracted. Abby told me to call you at some point. She hinted that there was some sort of scientific breakthrough happening.”

“Your distraction is totally understandable,” Stan says. “How’s Cecil?”

Carlos purses his lips. He’s not entirely sure what to say. “He’s… okay. I mean, he’s not  _ okay  _ but I think he’s still alive right now, so…”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Lusia says, sagely.

“Right,” Carlos agrees.

“And speaking of scientific breakthroughs,” Rachelle says, hesitantly. Dave starts to speak up, and Stan hurriedly shushes him. “I wouldn’t say it’s a breakthrough. And it’s not particularly scientific either.”

“What is it, then?”

He hears Rachelle inhale. “All the plants have started talking.”

“...What.”

“All the plants have started talking,” Stan repeats. “As in, the bushes, the hedges, the houseplants. They’re all emitting some low level telepathic field, and if you get caught up in it, you can hear them speaking.”

“Like the Forest?” Carlos asks.

Dave makes a noise of agreement. “Exactly like the Forest. We’ve been doing a couple of tests, and as far as we can tell, they’re not deadly like the Forest is. At least, not yet.”

“The ‘not yet’ isn’t filling me with confidence,” Stan says.

“Me neither,” Carlos says. “We could do without this. I assume this is what the Forest wanted to do with Cecil’s voice?”

“It tracks that they’d take the most powerful voice in Night Vale to amplify their own,” Rachelle says. “It’s logical. And kind of smart, to be honest. I didn’t think a bunch of trees would be able to figure that out.”

“I don’t really think they’re just trees,” Carlos says. The thought is jarring, and deeply concerning, so he tries not to dwell on it for too long. Instead, he listens to Rachelle and Dave debate between themselves until the sun sets fully. Their voices, at the very least, are reassuring.

* * *

Sunday is warm and sunny. It’s in direct contrast with how Carlos is feeling (depressed, hopeless, and fearful), so even the sun seems like an insult. 

The worst thing is, it’s a normal sky. The clouds aren’t multicoloured or raining objects, and the sun isn’t winking at them. That’s the most awful part; the evidence that Cecil’s condition is having a great effect on the environment around them.

Cecil himself doesn’t seem changed much. His hair is dry and dull, and his face is pale and gaunt. He looks like he has one foot in the grave already. Carlos hates it. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s not even sure if he can fix it - all he can do is wait for Tuesday, when hopefully,  Á rbore will give Cecil’s voice back.

Carlos doesn’t know what he’ll do if they don’t.

He lies next to Cecil, staring at his chest rise and fall. His breathing is shallow, and Carlos wonders if they would have been better off going to a hospital. But he’s not even sure if Night Vale General is operating at full capacity, if Cecil’s condition has affected that too. And he doubts a non-Night Valean hospital would have any clue at how to help him.

Cecil’s eyes move beneath his eyelids. They don’t stay in one place for any longer than a second, like he’s looking at things that Carlos can’t see. He’s not even sure if he’d want to see them, even if he could. 

At least he’s alive, right now, Carlos supposes. He watches Marconi, Aristotle, and Nikola pad around the bed, and their bedroom, exploring further now that Carlos is watching. The sun, at the very least, suits the kittens.

He just wishes Cecil could be awake. Even if he were still caught in whatever net he’s trapped in, even if his body was still wasting away, Carlos just wishes he were awake. At least then he would know if Cecil could hear him when Carlos spoke.

The basket Abby had given him yesterday sits atop their dresser. Carlos has been putting off going through it, because he’s afraid of what might be in it. He thinks that, given his chat with Abby yesterday, they’re both slowly losing faith that Night Vale will make it out of this, and that, more importantly, Cecil will pull through.

Carlos hasn’t prayed to a God for many years. But that night, he finds himself wishing upon every star he sees.

* * *

Monday comes, and Cecil’s condition has plateaued. Carlos isn’t sure as to whether or not he should be glad about that or not. On the one hand, it means Cecil isn’t actively worsening. On the other, it means all he can do is watch his still body as the sun travels through the sky, with nothing to show for it.

Lusia calls just before lunch, and Carlos takes the distraction she offers gladly. He leaves Cecil under the watchful eye of the kittens (he’s fairly certain that one of them, at least, must be omniscient), and stands at the window on the landing to answer her.

“Hey, Lusia.”

“Carlos, hi,” she says, “how, uh. How is he?”

Carlos sighs. Outside, the sun is disturbingly normal. Here, he can close the blinds and pretend everything is fine, living in a secret bubble with Cecil. “The same as yesterday. No better, but I don’t think he’s getting worse. How’s the town?”

Lusia pause says it all, really. “It’s okay. It’s getting more alarmingly normal by the day. Except for the plants, which are talking a lot more than they were yesterday. Haven’t you noticed it at your place?”

In all honesty, Carlos hasn’t been paying attention. But now he thinks about it, the house is painfully quiet. “I can’t hear it. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’ve got Cecil here,” he says. It’d probably be a longshot, but he has no better explanation, nor evidence to the contrary.

“Yeah,” Lusia says, “maybe. Anyway, I just wanted to check in. Stan is getting antsy. I think he wants to see the kittens again, but we’ve all told him to wait until Cecil is back to normal. We don’t want to overwhelm you all.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Dana’s already making plans for if we have to go back into the Forest,” Lusia continues. “I mean, not that we think we’ll have to go and fight them to get Cecil’s voice back! Just that it’s better to have all our avenues covered, right? Just in case.”

“Right,” Carlos agrees.

“Yeah,” Lusia says. “I guess only time will tell. Well, if we have to go back into the Forest, I definitely want to take some more readings. I know you said Night Vale was the most scientifically interesting community in America, but honestly, I think the Forest deserves some of that title, too.”

Carlos can almost agree with that. “I’d agree, too, if they hadn’t stolen my boyfriend’s voice.”

“Of course,” Lusia says. There’s a faint crash from her end of the phone. “Oh, shit! Sorry, Carlos, I have to run. Dave just accidentally shot his fire gun at the door. That’s another lunch rota gone. And we’re going to need another door. Oh, crap, the wall caught fire. Carlos, I’ll speak to you later, okay?!”

“Okay-” Carlos starts to say, before she hangs up.

At least things are running at the lab in his absence. Running  _ smoothly  _ is a fact that remains to be seen, but he supposes it could be going worse. He only hopes it doesn’t.

* * *

Worrying about Cecil begins to take over every logical thought in his brain. Carlos wants nothing more than to curl up in his arms and wait for their fate together, but he’s afraid even to sit next to him, lest he disturb Cecil’s molecules. He settles for sitting on the floor beside Cecil, so he can watch his face. Gaunt and drawn as it is, he still manages to look at peace in his slumber.

Marconi claws her way onto Carlos shoulder and starts headbutting his ear. He scratches under her chin, prompting a rumbly purr from her, and she hops down to sit in his cupped hands. He can’t help the sad smile he gives her.

At least, if anything, he has her, Aristotle, and Nikola. It’s a small comfort, but comfort all the same.

* * *

He wakes on Tuesday morning to Dana hammering on the front door. When he opens it, it reveals Dana, and most of his team, as well as Abby, Steve, and Josie.

“Did someone forget to invite me to the party?” he asks, letting them all traipse into the living room. Carlos isn’t sure how he manages to fit so many people into the house, but he does.

Dana shakes her head. “No. We though, since the week is over, we’d be here when Cecil wakes up. And if he doesn’t wake up… we’ll all be together to go and storm the Forest.”

“Right,” Carlos says. He’s not sure he quite understands the reasoning - surely having a whole group of people around once Cecil wakes up after a taxing and emotional ordeal wouldn’t be desirable. He’s not sure he could just send them away, now, though.

Rachelle pats his arm. “Lusia said you said there was no change in his condition. Is that still the same today?”

Carlos nods. “Yeah. He’s just lying there. Like he’s already dead.”

“Don’t say that,” Stan says. It falls on dead ears, but Carlos does relent. He’s sure they’re all thinking it anyway.

“I think all we can do now is wait,” Abby says, “isn’t it?”

“Abby’s right,” Dana says. “We should sort out some food, and a drink for Cecil, since we’re not sure just when he’ll wake up. And then we should settle in. It might end up being a long night.”

“I’m going to stay with Cecil,” Carlos says. He’s not sure he could tolerate being surrounded by their friends whilst knowing Cecil isn’t there to enjoy it with him.

Dana shakes her head. “Nope. Nu-uh. You’re going to stay here, and Abby will sit with Cecil. You need a break, Carlos.”

“I need to stay with him,” Carlos says, even though he knows she’s right.

“No, sweetie,” Abby says. She pats his cheek. “Steve and I will stay with him for a few hours. We’ll shout if anything changes, we promise. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine-”

“We can all see the bags under your eyes, Carlos,” Dave says. “At least take a nap. You won’t be able to do anything to help Cecil if you can’t function.”

“I function just fine,” Carlos says, but he lets Rachelle lead him towards the couch. 

He tries desperately hard to stay awake for as long as he can, but eventually, the weight on his eyelids is too much to bear. He drifts off as Lusia and Stan discuss the values of inter-dimensional travel (which is an argument they’ve had many times, now, and the familiarity is comforting.)

* * *

Carlos wakes up again once the sun is nearly set. Abby and Steve are both sitting on the floor now, whereas Stan and Dana are missing. Rachelle turns to him when he starts to sit up, and he hates to admit it, but he does feel more refreshed now.

“Is Cecil okay?” are the first words out of his mouth.

Rachelle nods. “He’s fine. There’s been no change yet. Maybe nothing will happen until midnight. Stan and Dana are up there now, and they’ll call for you if anything happens.”

“Okay,” he says. He’d rather be up there with Cecil himself, but he trusts his team. He trusts Dana. “Okay.”

Abby smiles at him. Her features are eerily similar to Cecil’s, but she uses them in a different way. Carlos can’t identify it, but her presence is still relaxing in the same way. “We were going to order some food in and settle down, if you like. Of course, you can kick us out whenever you like.”

Carlos shakes his head. As much as he might not have been expecting them all to turn up, their company is still welcome, and it’s probably a good thing to have them on hand should something go awry. “You can stay as long as you like. I don’t mind.”

“Great,” Dave says. He settles back into Carlos’s couch like he owns the place. “Dana said we had to make sure you ate something.”

It’s now that Carlos realises he hasn’t eaten since this morning, and his stomach rumbles. “Oh.”

Josie looks up from where she’s perusing his bookshelf. There’s a suspiciously glowing, white light somewhere over her left shoulder, but Carlos finds he can’t focus on it for too long. “Erika and I will go to Rico’s and bring some food back,” she says, “you all sit back down again.”

“Are you sure, Josie?” Steve asks. “I can come with you.”

Josie shakes her head. She pats her hand on Steve’s shoulder. “No. You must stay here with Cecil. I can feel that things are about to happen”

Carlos isn’t sure how much stock to put in her statement - Josie is rarely wrong about things, but her words are painfully ambiguous. “What does that mean?” he asks.

“Now, now. Fate is entitled to her secrets,” she tells them, making her way to the door, “all we can do is keep them for her.”

* * *

It’s much later by the time they’ve eaten, and Rachelle and Dave have taken over sitting at Cecil’s bedside. Carlos feels vague discomfort in the pit of his stomach at having to be away from him for so long, but having got some sleep and food has helped. He’ll admit that (reluctantly). 

He’s just settling on the couch, with Marconi and Aristotle in his lap, when Rachelle shouts for him.

“Carlos!” and just about everyone in the room jerks to their feet. “He’s waking up!”

It takes Carlos about two seconds to bound up the stairs and rush into their bedroom. Dave is standing at the foot of the bed, looking rather like he has no idea what to do, and Rachelle has her hand on Cecil’s forehead.

Cecil himself is flushed and red in the face, and his hands keep flexing on the bedclothes. It’s the most movement he’s displayed in the past week, and Carlos drops to his knees at the side of the bed, reaching out to hold onto Cecil’s hand.

He asks, “what happened?” wondering if Rachelle will even have any answers to give him.

“I don’t know,” she says, “he just started moving about, and he got really hot, like a fever. We didn’t see anything happen.”

“Will he be okay?” Carlos asks, even though he knows that Rachelle will have no way of knowing that. She shrugs at him, looking like it pains her just as much as it pains him. “Right. Okay. We just need to wait for him to wake up fully, don’t we?”

“I don’t think there’s anything else we can do,” Rachelle says.

Lusia pushes her way into the room, closely followed by Stan. She’s holding one of the books she brought to the Whispering Forest. “We can help him wake up faster.”

“We can? How?”

“It’s kind of stupid,” Stan says, “you have to kiss him.”

“Like a fairytale,” Dave says.

Lusia nods. “Exactly like a fairytale. True love’s kiss. Apparently the Whispering Forest is a fan of such far fetched literature.”

Carlos frowns, “are you sure?”

“No,” Lusia says, “I’m not totally sure. But I do think it’ll work. I’ve been researching the Forest. They’re kind of a legend amongst their own kind, like with myths and fables and everything. And Cecil has an extraordinary amount of power. If he didn’t, he probably wouldn’t have lasted this long. Now, you just have to give him some of  _ your  _ power, Carlos.”

“But I’m not powerful,” Carlos starts to say. 

Rachelle interrupts him. “You’re more powerful than you think. Not just anyone could date the Voice of Night Vale, you know.”

“Isn’t it kind of weird?” he says, desperately, “Cecil is asleep! What if he doesn’t want me to kiss him?”

“I’m sure Cecil will forgive you when he finds out you saved his life,” Stan says. “Carlos. Just kiss him.”

“But-”

“Carlos,” Dave says. 

Carlos steels himself. He kisses Cecil. Nothing happens for a while, for what is probably the longest minute of Carlos’s life.

Suddenly, Cecil draws in a great heaving breath, like he’s just surfaced from drowning. He looks almost as afraid as Carlos feels.

“Oh,” Lusia says, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I really wasn’t sure if that would work.”

“ _ Cecil, _ ” Carlos gasps. He can’t help himself as he throws his arms around Cecil. His body is still fragile and weak, but he’s awake.

“He needs to talk,” Rachelle says. “We’re not out of the woods yet. We need to know if they gave his voice back.”

Carlos moves back, helping Cecil to sit up slightly. Someone passes him a cup of water, which Cecil takes gratefully. 

There’s a long, tense moment before Cecil opens his mouth. Carlos’s heart is beating in his throat.

“...Carlos?”

Cecil’s voice is low and quiet and rusty with disuse, but it’s his, and it’s there, and Carlos very nearly bursts into tears. “Oh, thank God,” he says faintly. “Oh, my God.”

There’s an enormous difference between believing something will, or will not, happen, and actually seeing it happen. Carlos feels lightheaded and wobbly and overcome with all sorts of emotions when Cecil turns confused, alive eyes on him.

“What happened?” Cecil asks, muffled into Carlos’s hair.

“I’ll tell you later,” Carlos says. Honestly, he’s not sure how much of it he’ll be able to recount without crying. “Just… I’m so glad you’re back. I love you.”

This time, when Cecil says, “I love you,” the surge of power is back in it’s rightful place, bouncing along Carlos’s spine. 

Everything is back in it’s rightful place. The night doesn’t look so dark after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please know that im FULLY aware that cecil would probably be better off in a hospital given that he's probably incredibly dehydrated and suffering from malnutrition and a whole range of deficiencies. please just... artistic license.... please........
> 
> thank u for reading!!! id love to hear what u think so, um. comments. please.
> 
> i also have a lot of ideas for this au left. who knows if theyll ever come to fruition but right now, im thinking about a fic to deal with 'fixing' night vale post-voice return, and perhaps one from cecil's pov about what it was like for him. idk! we'll see..
> 
> take care everyone! i hope life treats u well. <3

**Author's Note:**

> been working on this for a couple of weeks. another part is to come, but id love to know ur thoughts so far!
> 
> hope everyones staying safe <3


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